


underground cages

by monarchs



Series: The Ark and Its Renegades [2]
Category: The Social Network (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Laboratory, Dystopia, Gen, Hybrids, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Mark-centric, Non-Graphic Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-26 15:08:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20932232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monarchs/pseuds/monarchs
Summary: An induced heat was on his agenda for today. The white-coats were going to give him pink pills, and leave him in a room with Dustin, his serval hybrid partner. They were going to fuck, then probably get fucked by the white-coats, and then the white-coats were going to test if either of them was pregnant, and input the results into a table, like what happened was just a string of numbers, scientific, empirical data, and nothing more.But it wasn't going to happen. None of that was going to happen.Today, Mark was going to run away.





	underground cages

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sundays](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sundays/gifts).

> Warnings for **references/implied/offscreen**: poor living conditions, violence, abuse, noncon gangbang, induced heats, injuries, minor character death, and very brief mentions of mpreg.
> 
> These are all mentioned briefly though, and mostly referenced or implied. This fic focuses on Mark's mental state as he prepares to escape - up to the point where he runs into Eduardo. This is a short prequel (of Mark's backstory) to my dystopia AU fic. I think it'll make a little more sense if you read the "The Renegades" fic first.
> 
> This drabble is dedicated to my dear old, Sundays!

The projected clock on the wall opposite of Mark's glass cage read 5:42AM when Mark first woke. Usually at this time, the sun rose, dawn broke and class would be just about three hours away, three blocks away.

But this wasn't Harvard anymore, no matter how much Mark wished for it to be.

The white-coats would come in at 6AM like clockwork. Never a second late, nor a second early.

Mark curled around his pillow. It had bloodstains on its cotton casing, but was the closest thing to normality for Mark. 

In three hours, the whispering radio would be tuned down, and Mark would be escorted to the urinal for his morning routine (a single splash of water on his face, one minute for brushing his teeth, and another for shaving). He would then be given meds he knew nothing about (for breakfast), and then led to his pod, where they would attach him to machines, and give him his daily modified gene injections.

An induced heat was on his agenda for today. The white-coats were going to give him pink pills, and leave him in a room with Dustin, his serval hybrid partner. They were going to fuck, then probably get fucked by the white-coats, and then the white-coats were going to test if either of them was pregnant, and input the results into a table, like what happened was just a string of numbers, scientific, empirical data, and nothing more.

But it wasn't going to happen. None of that was going to happen.

Mark closed his eyes and held the side of his neck tightly. He had clawed out his tracker the night before, in preparation.

Today, Mark was going to run away.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The white-coats fed Mark a bigger lunch, because the last time they didn't feed him before an induced heat, he had blacked out while being fucked spit-roast.

Today's menu was artificial salmon with rain-lemon zest and cloudy brown sugar. The box was popped into the microwave and served on a stainless steel platter, that clattered against the floor in Mark's cage.

He ate with his hands. They didn't give them utensils because last time a black bear hybrid (Billy, though Mark had forgotten his family name) had tried to stab a white-coat's eyes with a plastic knife and fork.

Mark glanced, uneasily, at the empty cage in front of him, under the digital clock, which was now showing a timer for their lunch. 

There were only two white-coats at the end of the hall, discussing the air quality inside the lab, which was deep underground.

"Maintenance today, right?" one of them asked. "They're changing the oxygen tanks, I heard, and recalibrating the elevator system."

"Yeah, before the afternoon session," the other answered. "Think we could get a couple 'f salt ice cream from down the street?"

The lunch timer sounded, and the intercom announced the procedure for maintenance. Hybrids were to be moved into pods by white-coats, so they could be ejected more easily should anything happen, while kept securely in place as well. White-coats were to head up to a monitor room above ground. 

One of the pods didn't close properly, and Mark was going to bet everything on it. He was going to leave his tracker in the pod, slip out, hack the system (a creepy white-coat had hinted at his passcode, once, when he had been fucking Mark missionary-style), and program the system to eject the pods after a timer.

A white-coat with thick-rimmed glasses approached Mark's cage, tapping on the glass. The tapping echoed loudly inside and made Mark bristle. 

The white-coat was examining the tracker through the glass-screen. Mark tightened his grip on his tracker, which was in his fist. The white-coat activated the shock function, and Mark could feel it; he reacted to it accordingly, tensing his entire body, which satisfied the white-coat, who grinned. After a minute, everything seemed to be in check, and the white-coat walked away to tap on another hybrid's cage. Mark relaxed his shoulders only when the man was out of sight.

Mark touched his pillow gently, apologetically. 

The cage doors opened, and everyone lined up. Dustin gave Mark a sad look before they were led to the pods.  
  
  
  
From then on, it was as Mark had planned. Nothing had gone wrong, not really. The white-coats had been over-confident, and the system was, surprisingly simple and pliant, to Mark's fingers.  
  
  
  
Mark would have opened all of their pods if he could, but he couldn't. He had to run first. He was sorry for Dustin - he was (especially because, the next day, Dustin was going to have to grow a tail, and get some grafts, and it was going to hurt so fucking bad it might as well kill him). But Mark couldn't get caught. The white-coats had contacted the Officers, and they were coming from every cardinal direction, closing in on him.

The air smelled like rain. New World mold. And Death drowning. 

It was dark even though it was supposed to be just a little after noon, but Mark had better eyesight in the dark, so it was okay, except really, after all this time under UV lamps, he had hoped for just a little natural light. 

An Officer barely missed Mark, at the plaza. He was with a white-coat, and they were communicating via nods and significant glances. Mark hadn't known that project NOAH was sponsored by The Ark. But it made sense.  
  
  
  
He vomited in an alley, behind a trash can, after having lost the Officers in the crowd. The pod ride up to the surface had been brutal because he had been upside down. His fingers hurt from having to try to keep his pod closed manually too. 

Shit, he hated this. He could feel it in his bones, this itch for cleanliness, this need to wash his hands and face with warm water and soap and a towel. The wound on his neck had opened up too. He was a total mess, and his lab gown was so dirty he wanted to puke again, so he did.

Thankfully, it wasn't raining, because he was still inside The Ark, but he knew like he knew that the world was fucked up, that he would have to leave, headfirst into the pouring rain, very much soon.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
In the evening, under the neon lights that had just flickered on, he stole clothes (a grey t-shirt, black shorts) from a shop, and managed to get some filtered water to clean himself up. 

In the night, when it got truly dark, he spied from afar, a crack in the barrier that protected The Ark from the rain. It was unguarded, almost invisible. It was perfect.

The Officers and white-coats were roaming near, their voice gentle like thunder. He could hear them in his ears, like mosquitoes buzzing, deafening his thoughts, keeping him from having any.

"You are the chosen ones. Count yourselves lucky. You will become the leaders of the next world. Be the heroes of the next generation. You are our last chance, our only hope, Mark."

"Come back to us, Mark, and we will make you whole."

"You are intelligent. You will know what's better for you, for human kind, Mark."

Mark squeezed his eyes shut, breathing hard. He shook his head, thought of the hybrids he left behind, thought of days of being opened up and closed again, crying and screaming and whimpering in a surgery bed that smelled of HCL. Thought of Dustin with a bony tail, of Billy sleeping in a puddle of blood. 

Then, Mark thought of his family. Thought of their smiles when they knew he got into Harvard University, with a scholarship. In times like these it had been an immense blessing, a highly sought-for privilege.

Little did they know.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Mark couldn't go back to his family. They were monitored. Mark would have run away in vain if he fell into the trap of longing, nostalgia. 

He couldn't go back, he told himself. He placed his hands over his ears. It hardly did the trick, but.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Mark walked through the crowd, his pace quicker and quicker, a straight line to the crack in the barrier.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
He was getting out of here.  
  
He wasn't turning back.  
  
  
  
He ran, sprinted, raindrops hitting his face, the sound washing away the whispers in his mind.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading. If you... enjoyed this, I'd love to know your thoughts.
> 
> If not, well... sorry.


End file.
